I tell Troy, “By the time we come out on the Jersey side, you’re going to know the whole story of why we’re going to Harrison, New Jersey.”

Troy dials down the siren, but he doesn’t turn off the blinking lights. He roars around the other traffic in the tunnel. The moment we’re on the Jersey side, he says, “Okay, Detective Lucy. Lay it on me.”

As we approach the interchange to 95 south, I tell him what I’ve just learned. “There’s a pharma company in Harrison, New Jersey. It’s called General Infant Health. The initials of which are—”

Troy jumps in. “GIH.”

“Yeah, Mr. Genius,” I say. “Stunningly similar to GUH. Let’s assume it’s a coincidence. Anyway, GIH isn’t totally unknown, but they’re pretty much under the radar. Privately traded stock. Small group of personnel. No real board of directors. Next to places like Novartis and Pfizer, GIH is really small potatoes. This place we’re going to in Harrison, New Jersey, is their only office. It houses both GIH corporate and GIH R and D. When’s the last time you heard of a pharma operation so streamlined it had both those disciplines under the same roof?”

Troy shrugs his shoulders.

It occurs to me that Troy has never thought about the size of pharmaceutical companies. It occurs to me that until today I had never thought of them, either.

“Anyway, according to what I’m finding online, they’re working on a product for multiple types of infant CHD.”

Turns out, as a trained midwife, Troy knows about CHD. He defines it for me, as if to prove what I already know: this man is smart.

“Congenital heart defects,” he says. “Hard to find a more miserable, awful problem for babies than some of these heart abnormalities.” Then he adds, “How do you know so much about this place, Lucy?”

I don’t answer him right away. First, I tell him, “We’ve got to move a lot faster, buddy. Put your siren on again.”

The noise and the lights let us accelerate, but it’ll still take a while to get there. I’m ready to tell him about GIH and my mother, but even with time enough to say more, I go for the really short version.

“Listen, it involves my mom and me and West Virginia and midwife work and…Please, you’ve got to do what Blumenthal and Sarkar and Cilia never can do: trust me.”

Troy glances at me and we continue on in silence for a time. When the GPS finally announces, “Exit next right onto Essex Street, continue to Harrison Avenue,” I say, “Got that?”

Troy nods toward the exit sign ahead as he again douses the siren.